Nothing the Master could have come up with to torture me on the Valiant could ever compare to this.
The feel of her hand in mine is soothing, reassuring, especially after the year from Hell I just went through. I tell her that I will always come back for her – truer words were never spoken, least of all by me. But then I sense a disturbance in the smooth lines of her slender fingers – a ring. She tells me she's engaged, and my heart shatters. What chance is there for us, then, now that she's chosen another?
I tell her I'm happy for her. And I am, in a way. I will always want what's best for her. And if that's Rhys, then so be it. Doesn't mean it hurts any less to see them together. And it certainly doesn't mean I have to like the fact that she wants to include him in her work.
Torchwood is supposed to be ours, a retreat from reality, a place where I could pretend … what, exactly? That we were together, a couple? I'm lying to myself if I say I've never thought of bedding Gwen. I'm no better than Owen, in that regard. Gwen is a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stale Hub. Who wouldn't fall for her?
Rhys, brave Rhys, willing to take a bullet for the one he loves. Aren't I just as brave? I'd take a bullet for Gwen, and gladly. Though my sacrifice might lose meaning with the whole 'coming back to life' thing that I have going on. No matter. I can't RetCon her – not again. I did that once, erasing all trace of me from her memory. No more. I'd rather have her as a friend than not at all.
So, I tell her, "Give Rhys my love. And I will see you tomorrow."
As she storms out, I disappear into my office where I watch her on the CCTV, kissing Rhys. My stomach lurches. How I wish that were me. But we're co-workers – nothing more, nothing less. And that's all we'll ever be.